It’s a sudden realization. For the last three weeks, I have been only talking or listening about money. I am also reading quite a lot about money.
I am tired. Don’t get me wrong. I love money. For all the temporary possibilities money offers.
Late last night, I listened to Ravish Kumar’s wonderful talk titled ‘Love in the time of Note Bandi’ in Timeslitfest, New Delhi. The house was deep in slumber. I was the only one sitting in front of a flickering laptop, enjoying the words of Ravish Kumar.
Delhi suddenly felt near, intimate. Geography seemed irrelevant. Airports felt meaningless. Memory and desire felt warm in the heart and veins too. So also the huge, dark gulab jamuns of Aggarwal Sweets in Munrika. The piping hot jalebis of Moonlight. The jalebis felt complete with samosas, they made a happy couple with their sweet-salty combination. Life’s XL pleasures. Managed with little money.
Why do I still remember the taste of those jalebis, gulab jamuns and samosas? Why is it so difficult to let go of young, delicious memories?
I am thinking of love. Young love. Adult love. Aching love, smiling love, happy love, teary love.
Some loves are so intense and organic that they actually don’t need much money to survive, to flourish. These love stories are wrapped in richness. They don’t need pumping of money to look or feel rich.
These love stories don’t need diamonds, birthday celebrations in swanky five star hotels, Louis Phillipe shirts or LV handbags. They are just rich by their very nature.
On November 9, 2016 morning, some love felt like Rs 100. And some felt like Rs 1000.
Who knows what lies ahead?
Bur I feel like sitting down one Sunday and counting the chillar (coins) in my little piggy bank. I have a feeling we can still buy a nice meal for both of us with that money.
Let them talk about cashless India, debit cards, credit cards, netbanking, paytm, this and that.
My India is still safe in my little piggy bank.
I want my fingers to be messy with the syrup of jalebis. I love my fingers, I love his fingers. I love it more when our fingers are intertwined. There’s certain mellowness about lovers and their fingers.
I want to run my fingers through his hair. Like I used to do when I was 22.
Neither of us need to be rich to do that.